


Closed Doors

by graysonsen



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:17:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6891709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graysonsen/pseuds/graysonsen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jenkins is having some private time. Ezekiel has no concept of privacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There have been others, of course. Over the endless years, there have been other men, other _boys_ , even, but few with quite the same spark, that lit-from-within brightness that makes Jones so uniquely, infuriatingly attractive. _Ezekiel_ , Jenkins thinks, the name curling and winding its way through his mind, almost as frustrating and elusive as its owner.

Jenkins is in his private bathroom, pajamas pushed halfway down his thighs, the door securely locked. He has one hand braced on the cool, tiled wall, and the other on his heated cock. In his younger days, he sometimes wondered if age would eventually calm such urges, but, somewhat irritatingly, the need remains as strong as ever. Time has not in any way dimmed or blunted his desires, and so he deals with them as necessary. 

His hand moves more quickly, fist twisting as it slides up and down, thumb circling over the head of his cock on every forward stroke, the pressure building like a wave inside him. He hisses, eyes closed tight, letting out a low moan of pleasure as the feeling peaks, wet warmth shooting out onto his palm.

He exhales a long breath and picks up the washcloth he's laid out ready to clean himself.

"Impressive," someone says from behind him, out of nowhere, and Jenkins has to consciously still himself, very deliberately control every last muscle in his body in order not to visibly react. 

"What are you doing in here?" he says, his voice smoothly neutral, not looking up, continuing to wipe himself off even as he's internally seething, the humiliation of it bitter and sour in his mouth.

"I heard noises," Ezekiel replies lightly. "I thought you might have like, broken your hip or something."

"My hip?" Jenkins tosses the cloth in the sink and pulls up his pajamas, turning to face Ezekiel, who shrugs.

"I don't know," he says. "Isn't that what old people do?" 

Jenkins is well aware he shouldn't be insulted, that Ezekiel is just toying with him, doing what Ezekiel does, but it still stings. Barely, but he feels it. "Yes," he agrees, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. "We break our hips, poor fragile creatures that we are, toothless and unsteady with our ancient bones. It's really terribly tragic."

"Ancient bones?" Ezekiel grins. "More like ancient _boners_ , dude, with what I just saw." He takes a few steps closer and playfully punches Jenkins' upper arm. "Not too old to still be wanking it, anyway."

Jenkins holds up his hands in mock-surrender. "Guilty as charged." He's about ready to kick Ezekiel out, having no desire to continue this conversation, but even now, he's loath to forego the boy's company. _Pathetic_ , he thinks to himself, but he doesn't say anything.

Ezekiel looks at him, thoughtful. "Interesting technique, though." He frowns for a second, and then he's suddenly unfastening his jeans, pushing them and his underwear down out of the way, like it's a totally normal thing to do, and Jenkins is desperately stifling a small, shocked gasp. 

Because Ezekiel's hard, he's _very_ hard, and while in this moment Jenkins is far too preoccupied by the sight to even think of it, later he'll realize what that means, that Ezekiel has been watching him, Jenkins, jerk off, and he's _hard_.

But right now, all he can do is stare helplessly at Ezekiel's cock. It's not so long, but it's good and thick, and Ezekiel takes it in hand matter of factly, sliding his fist up and down, shifting his grip experimentally.

"Show me," he says, turning to face Jenkins.

"What?" Jenkins asks, hopelessly lost.

"That thing you did, with that move, that little twist thing," Ezekiel says. "Show me." He gestures at himself, as if what he's asking is nothing out of the ordinary, something he'd ask of anyone.

But he's asking _Jenkins_.

And Jenkins knows he should turn away, tell Ezekiel to stop playing, because this is a very, very bad idea, but he can barely remember the last time allowed himself to feel _anything_ , let alone something like this, and Ezekiel's standing in front of him, waiting, and there's no one else here. 

No one to see, no one to judge, so Jenkins cautiously holds out his hand, giving Ezekiel a searching, questioning look, but all he gets in reply is an impatient nod. He's almost certain that as soon as he touches Ezekiel, the boy will jump back, laughing, telling Jenkins he can't believe he fell for it, that he's a creepy old pervert or something similarly shaming, but when Jenkins' fingertips faintly, finally, brush over the head of his cock, what happens instead is that Ezekiel lets out the tiniest, most high-pitched of whines.

It might be the very hottest thing that Jenkins has ever heard, and Jenkins has been alive long enough that he's heard a _lot_. But nothing like this, these desperate, yearning whimpers as Jenkins' fingers curl loosely around Ezekiel's shaft, and it's been so many years since he jerked someone else off that at first he has to concentrate, recall the precise knack of doing this from the opposing angle. His grip is tentative, movements unsure, but it's apparently enough, as Ezekiel soon closes his eyes, head falling back.

Jenkins has to stop himself from leaning over, biting at the solidly muscled line of Ezekiel's throat, but he keeps control. He takes a deep breath, grabbing the lotion he's used earlier on himself, pausing for just a moment to squirt some into his palm.

"Don't stop," Ezekiel mutters, opening his eyes to look up at Jenkins, who holds his gaze as his now-oiled hand slides down tight over the length of Ezekiel's cock. _"Fuck,"_ he says, fervent, eyelids again fluttering closed.

He sways just a little, losing his balance for a second, and reaches out blindly to take hold of Jenkins' hip, grasping firmly. Jenkins swallows hard, increasing his rhythm, the pressure of his strokes, watching, barely even daring to blink.

Ezekiel's mouth is slightly open, tongue licking wet over his lips as he audibly breathes in and out, inhalations speeding and deepening until he cries out: a sharp, harsh sound. Come spatters hot onto Jenkins' leg, soaking through his pajamas.

"Shit," Ezekiel says breathlessly, taking a step away, "you're good at that."

Jenkins shrugs in a cursory attempt to not appear as smugly satisfied he feels, but modesty doesn't suit him, he knows. "Well," he says, "I've had a lot of practice."

"Guess so." Ezekiel smiles, lazy and wide. "Thanks, Jenkins," he says, pulling up his jeans, zipping them. 

"You're welcome," Jenkins replies, folding his arms, leaning back against the sink. "And if next time you could, you know, _knock_ , that would be much appreciated."

"I'm Ezekiel Jones," Ezekiel scoffs, incredulous. "Ezekiel Jones doesn't _knock."_

It's the same old banter, their usual pattern, and Jenkins can only assume that this has just been some random, passing diversion for Ezekiel, some aberrant moment that stands no chance of being repeated. He doesn't know what else he would have expected, but hope springs eternal, he supposes. No fool like a very, very old fool, and he turns, looking at himself in the mirror, seeing gray hair, the lines around his eyes.

But Ezekiel is still here, and all at once he's closer. "Why?" he asks, peering over Jenkins' shoulder, meeting his reflection's stare. "Would you make it worth my while if I did knock?"

And it's almost embarrassing, the way Jenkins' pulse immediately races, the hot weight of anticipation that suddenly pools low in his body. "Maybe," he says, careful not to show any hint of eagerness. "I might."

Ezekiel grins, slapping Jenkins' ass hard enough that he flinches. "Challenge accepted, my friend," he says, backing out of the room, practically bouncing with glee.

_What have I done?_ Jenkins thinks helplessly, but he can feel himself smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The following night, Ezekiel pays a return visit.

The next night, Jenkins carefully locks the door of his bedroom. He stands there a minute, thinking, then takes one of the binding stones he keeps here in case of emergencies and presses it to the lock, murmuring a quiet chant in Latin, watching the stone flare bright with a glowing light as it seals the door tightly.

 _There,_ he thinks, for good or bad. It means he's engaged, that he's playing the game, and where that will lead he has no idea. But it's done, so he wanders into the bathroom. It's still relatively early, but he showers, standing for as long as he can bear to under the hot water, soaping himself up slowly. 

His cock is half-hard; if he's honest, it's been half-hard all day, the sharp, delicious prickle of anticipation building inside him after the events of last night. Colonel Baird and the others have been busy, and Jenkins has buried himself in research, trying to tell himself he's not deliberately avoiding Ezekiel, but knowing better, postponing any encounter for fear of giving himself away, letting his feelings show.

He gives his cock a few firm strokes, yielding to temptation for just a moment, but he's learned to be patient, bide his time, so he goes no further. Not yet.

He finally shuts off the water and steps out, taking his time drying himself off before he walks back into his bedroom, dressing in a fresh pair of neatly-pressed pajamas.

The room is quiet, exactly how he's always preferred it, but tonight he feels restless, somehow ill-at-ease even in these familiar surroundings. The furniture is old and heavy; a huge, commandingly high four poster bed and walls lined with dark wood panelling. Every now and then Jenkins considers changing things, but he likes the style. It suits him.

He lies back on his bed, not getting under the covers, arranging the pillows under his head until he's comfortable, and waits.

And waits.

It's late by the time he sighs to himself, realizing that, in all likelihood, this isn't going to happen. Not tonight, anyway, and yes, there's all the usual insecurities about age and loneliness and immortality, but there's also the fact that while Ezekiel might be one of the smartest people Jenkins has ever met, he's also seemingly as easily distracted as a goldfish.

So, it's probably not personal. Even if, right now, it _feels_ personal. But at least, Jenkins thinks, he can console himself with thoughts of last night. He replays it in his head: the feel of Ezekiel's cock, alive and throbbing, the way he looked when he came, the noises he made… 

Jenkins shoves one hand roughly down the front of his pajamas, closing his eyes and finally allowing himself the relief of touch. He's nearing the end, hips thrusting up off the mattress in his urgency, when Ezekiel says, "Knock knock."

For a split second Jenkins is sure he's imagining it, but he opens his eyes, and Ezekiel is standing there, grinning, making a show of rapping his knuckles on the nearest wooden post of the bed.

Jenkins is suddenly self-conscious, trying, and no doubt failing, to subtly slide his hand out of his pajamas. "On the _door,"_ he says, putting on as much of an air of exasperation as he can manage. "You were supposed to knock on the door."

"The door?" Ezekiel replies, all innocence. "I don't remember you saying I had to knock on the _door_. You just said 'knock'." He kicks off his shoes, and is already climbing up on on to the bed when he adds, "And just FYI, mate, magical locks are easy as for someone with my skills."

"It was worth a try," Jenkins mutters, not sure what to do with his hands, resting them either side of himself.

Ezekiel pauses, kneeling, looking Jenkins up and down, taking him in from head to toe, frowning slightly, gaze so concentrated that Jenkins has to hold his breath for a moment, finally exhaling when Ezekiel reaches over and grabs the waistband of his pajamas, tugging them downwards. Jenkins raises himself enough off the bed to ease the process, swallowing nervously as Ezekiel stares at his now-exposed, still hard cock.

"Hmm," Ezekiel murmurs, thoughtful, sitting back on his heels. His head is tilted ever so slightly to the left, and he bites his lip before leaning closer and quickly unbuttoning Jenkins' pajama top, pushing it aside, leaving his chest bare.

Jenkins knows he isn't what the current fashion would define as _hot_ , but he's also aware he isn't ugly, that he holds a certain distinguished kind of appeal, even if his body is softer than it once was. And while he may not completely understand why Ezekiel seems interested in doing this with _him_ , of all available people, he does trust that the boy knows his own mind, so he tries to relax, stop overthinking things.

Which is made distinctly simpler when Ezekiel spits into his palm and then matter of factly takes hold of Jenkins' cock, stroking slowly up and down. 

_"Oh,"_ Jenkins breathes out, because it feels like an eternity since someone else has touched him, and Ezekiel's grip is smooth and skilled, his tempo sure. Nimble fingers curl around him, unerringly searching out every spot that drives him most wild, on and on until the pleasure of it is bordering on unbearable, and Jenkins hasn't come this fast in years.

His fists are clenched tight and stiff at his sides, orgasm peaking, spilling over him, sparking across his skin like electricity as he comes into Ezekiel's hand, groaning helplessly.

And there's no time to come down, no pause, because Ezekiel is straddling him, knees either side of Jenkins' body, and he's using his other hand to unfasten his jeans, taking out his cock, and it's just as perfect as Jenkins remembers, thick and ready. There's a drop of precome glistening temptingly at the tip, and Jenkins has to lick his lips, watching as Ezekiel jacks himself, and that's _Jenkins'_ come he's smearing up and down his cock, rubbing into his skin as his movements grow faster

He's louder than he was last night, those small desperate whimpers broadening out into low moans, and Jenkins can't help himself, has to slide his hands up Ezekiel's thighs. He briefly digs his thumbs into the bulk of muscle there, then goes further, reaching behind Ezekiel. There's bared skin now, Jenkins' fingers inside the loosened waist of the boy's jeans. He keeps his eyes on Ezekiel's face as he lightly dips one finger into the crack of his ass, right at the top, the merest hint of a caress.

And Ezekiel's head snaps back on his neck, teeth visibly gritted, his pelvis jerking forward as come spurts out white onto Jenkins' chest, so hot he could swear it's burning him, leaving a mark. 

Ezekiel looks down at him, shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths that gradually slow, and Jenkins is in no hurry to move. 

"I bet you have something all ready for clean up, right?" Ezekiel says, finally.

Jenkins gestures at the nightstand beside the bed, and Ezekiel leans over. There's a small metal container there, keeping a soft cloth damp and warm and Ezekiel unsnaps the lid, taking it out. "Heated and everything." He nods approvingly at Jenkins. "Fancy."

Jenkins doesn't say anything, but he smiles contentedly, watching as Ezekiel wipes off his hands, then gently rubs the cloth over Jenkins' chest, tracing wide circles across his skin, taking his time, continuing even after all the come is gone. Jenkins feels himself relax into it, sighing, and it's one thing, he muses, to be touched sexually, raw with need and want, but another entirely to be _cared_ for, like this, sensual and slow.

It's been so long, so very, _very_ long, and every time he thinks he's fathomed Ezekiel, worked him out, there's something else: another layer of complications and depth, and Jenkins only wants to keep going, discovering more.

"Well," Ezekiel says abruptly, jumping up off the bed. "That was fun."

"Fun?" Jenkins questions, because that isn't quite the word he'd use.

"Yeah, _fun."_ Ezekiel smiles, pulling up his jeans, bending to scoop his shoes off the floor. "You should try it sometime, Jenkins."

"Maybe I should." 

Ezekiel's smile widens into that familiar grin. "See you tomorrow, then," he says, and before Jenkins can reply, he's gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third night.

The following night, Jenkins once again stands at his bedroom door, thinking. It's getting to be a habit, it would seem, and Jenkins does enjoy his routines. There are various binding spells he could try, he ponders, a polarity-powered chain and bolt he keeps downstairs in his research room. But he makes a choice, does nothing, leaving the door open.

He showers, as normal, but this time forgoes pajamas and simply climbs into bed naked, lying back, smoothing the covers down over himself. There's a selection of books on the nightstand, and he picks one at random, opens it up, and begins to read.

Eventually, some hours later, Ezekiel wanders in. "The door's not locked," he says, glancing back behind him before turning to face Jenkins, wearing a puzzled, vaguely suspicious expression.

"Indeed, it is not," Jenkins concurs.

Ezekiel stands in the middle of the room, clearly at a loss. "But that's easy," he says. "Where's the challenge in an unlocked door?"

Jenkins lowers his book. "Sometimes the challenge is in the ease."

Ezekiel glares at him. "That's one of your cryptic things I'm supposed to try and work out, isn't it?" 

"Perhaps." Jenkins shrugs, because even he's not entirely certain what point he's trying to make, but it doesn't matter.

Ezekiel moves closer, climbing on to the bed, flopping down next to Jenkins with an unnecessarily melodramatic sigh. "So," he says, nudging Jenkins with one knee, "have you already finished? Or are you just not in the mood?"

"I'm sorry?" says Jenkins, and in reply, Ezekiel crudely mimes masturbation with one hand.

Jenkins rolls his eyes. "I was waiting for you."

"Cool." Ezekiel nods. "You naked under there?"

"I am."

"Well," says Ezekiel, sitting up, jumping off the bed, his energy frighteningly youthful, "I better join the party then."

Jenkins puts the book aside, watching as Ezekiel undresses, trying not to wince as he flings his clothes carelessly around the room, but he's soon too distracted to care. He realized a long time ago that there was a quite remarkable body hiding under Ezekiel's baggy, nondescript clothing choices, but it's one thing to be aware of something in theory, another altogether to see the evidence in the flesh.

_So_ much flesh, almost too much: shockingly broad shoulders and muscled arms, carved-out abs sloping down to narrow hips, and Jenkins can't focus, a panicked gasp trapped in his throat as Ezekiel grabs the bed covers, throwing them aside with a flourish. 

Jenkins feels some strange, shaming instinct to cover himself, but he stays still, and Ezekiel is crawling up the bed, over Jenkins' body, grinning wolfishly. "Hi," he says.

"Hello," Jenkins replies, apprehensive despite himself, and Ezekiel laughs, falling down on top of him, pelvis lined up with Jenkins', their cocks against one another; hot, hard skin so smooth it's almost unbearable. Jenkins has to grit his teeth, try to remember to breathe.

"That okay?" Ezekiel asks.

"Yes," answers Jenkins quickly. "Yes, that's…" He coughs awkwardly, not trusting his voice to stay steady. "That's okay."

"Good," says Ezekiel, and he doesn't look away, eyes on Jenkins' as he starts to grind up against him. And Ezekiel's always beautiful, but god, he's _so_ fucking beautiful like this, all that swagger and bravado falling away, nothing but raw vulnerability remaining, every last thing he's feeling written over his features, utterly and completely exposed.

It's almost terrifying to see, overwhelming enough that Jenkins has to look away for a moment, and Ezekiel buries his face in Jenkins' neck, tonguing at the skin there, moaning so loudly that Jenkins can feel it.

He reaches down between their bodies, taking them both in hand, Ezekiel thrusting relentlessly into him, body suddenly stiffening as heat splashes between them.

"I…" Jenkins starts, but Ezekiel's already moving lower, kissing and biting along the way, and then he's licking his own come off Jenkins' belly, tongue snaking around the base of his cock, mouthing at his balls. "Oh," Jenkins groans out, as Ezekiel's lips close over the head of his cock, sliding down. _"God…"_

He jerks up off the bed, cock thrusting into the hot wet heat surrounding him, but Ezekiel's hands are on Jenkins' hips, pinning him fast to make his own rhythm, head bobbing up and down, tongue doing things that Jenkins can't even process as being physically possible.

"I'm going to…" Jenkins warns helplessly, but Ezekiel doesn't let up, going even further, taking it all, swallowing as Jenkins comes into his throat.

Jenkins lies there, not sure he could move even if he wanted to, watching through half-closed eyes as Ezekiel straightens the covers, pulling them back up over Jenkins and slipping seamlessly in next to him, pressed up tight against his side.

It's a few minutes before Jenkins can speak. "So you're staying, then?" he asks.

"Blowjob means I get to spend the night," Ezekiel answers confidently.

"I wasn't aware there was a standard rule."

"Well, there is."

"Okay." And the problem, Jenkins muses, is that once they're done, he can't stop himself from _thinking._ And thinking leads to nothing good. "You know, you don't have to…" he says.

"What?"

"I mean, wouldn't you rather be spending time with... someone more your own age?"

Ezekiel stares at him like he's just said something stunningly, unbelievably stupid, and says, "No," his voice incredulous.

"It's just…" Jenkins frowns, because he doesn't know how to put this tactfully. "I can't imagine I'm your type."

"Actually," Ezekiel says, "you're exactly my type."

"I am?"

"Yep." Ezekiel grins. "Old, tall and grumpy." Jenkins is about to protest when Ezekiel adds, "Also a total silver fox."

"Oh," says Jenkins, and he can't help smiling at that.

Ezekiel considers for a second, and then says, "But the main thing is that you're not boring." He snuggles in closer to Jenkins, resting his head on his chest, and Jenkins can smell his hair, the soft scent of it. "Most people are boring, but you're not," Ezekiel continues. "Not at all."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Jones," Jenkins tells him. "I find you to also be most decidedly not-boring."

Ezekiel looks up at him. "I think you can call me 'Ezekiel' now."

"Thank you, _Ezekiel,"_ Jenkins says, serious.

"But hey, if you ever get the urge to call me 'Mr. Jones' while you're fucking me, that would be kind of awesome."

Jenkins practically sputters at that, stammering out some barely coherent gibberish in reply, and Ezekiel laughs.

"Good night," he says, pressing a brief, close-lipped kiss to Jenkins' mouth, and before he can pull away, Jenkins slides his hand into the boy's hair, keeping him close, wanting more.

"I've got…" Ezekiel gestures at his face. He means Jenkins' come, that he's just swallowed it, that it will still be in his mouth.

"Good," Jenkins says, and drags him back in, feeling Ezekiel's smile wide against him as his tongue slides past his lips, licking the taste of himself away until nothing remains.

They kiss for a long time, slow and lazy and open, already sated enough that they can take their time, no urgency except that to enjoy and explore, find each other in this new, strangely unexpected place. 

Ezekiel finally leans back, yawning. "Us mortals need our sleep, you know."

"Of course." Jenkins reaches over and turns off the lamp by the bed, and Ezekiel settles in, one arm draped over Jenkins' body, shifting back and forth until he's positioned comfortably.

"Good night, Ezekiel," Jenkins says, but there's no reply.

Ezekiel's head is heavy on his chest, his breathing deep and even, and Jenkins lies awake, listening.


End file.
